


it was worth it every time.

by letusbebrave



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Drabbles, F/F, Ficlets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-11
Updated: 2014-11-11
Packaged: 2018-02-25 01:19:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2603273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letusbebrave/pseuds/letusbebrave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>several of my tumblr skimmons ficlets, mostly angsty or smut and always taking prompts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. with words unspoken ( a silent devotion )

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: skimmons smut, whatever you like :) hope you enjoy it!

There were always guns.

Jemma knew this from the start—but the bad guys didn’t use the I.C.E.R guns ( _even though Jemma would forever call them the night-night guns_ ). They used real guns with real bullets—bullets that could so easily tear through skin, through a person’s life.

Guns made things very real.

Bullets in the air made Simmons panic.

She could only properly breathe after they were back on the safety of the Bus and she didn’t have to worry about the team making out of it alive. When she didn’t have to worry about losing a member of her team—loosing  _Skye_ —then she could breathe again.

She never wanted to see Skye anywhere near guns again.

It felt like there were surges of electricity running through her body after she caught her breathe. The panic hadn’t been able to escape during the mission ( _she had kept it locked away tight so she could do her job_ ). So all the anxiety and panic that had been presented lay dormant for now underneath her skin. It itched to get out of her skin. The anxiety ached to be expressed. Her hands shook even back in the plane. They even shook after she squeezed them together in front of herself.

“Simmons.”

Skye’s voice didn’t help the tremors, although it was nice to know that the girl was right there beside her.

The trembling continued through Coulson’s speech—it was something uplifting and to fortify the team, but Jemma didn’t listen. All she could focus on was Skye’s breathe against her shoulder. Along with a curt nod, Jemma excused herself from the bonding that was sure to go on.

While the medical supply wasn’t exactly the  _warmest_  place, Jemma didn’t feel like going back to her open bunk. She felt more comfortable here in the dim-lighted medical supplies than she did up where the team could hear her breathing.

There was blood on her hands—how did that happen? They still shook as she held them up to look at. The blood wasn’t nearly as much as it had been when Skye had bled o— _No_.

Adrenaline mixed with the anxiety had made her forget about the small cut above her eyebrow from where the butt of a gun had hit against her skull. The door squeaked opened and then locked behind her and Jemma responded before she could turn around.

“Fitz—I’m fine, I don’t need…” Her voice was cut off as she felt soft hands grace her hips. A sigh left her lips instead of the rest of the words. The grip was soft at first, but then it tightened and the hands pulled Jemma around swiftly.

The hands didn’t stay upon her hips for long. The hands ( _which were trembling like her own_ ) held Jemma’s neck within a sternness that she hadn’t expected.

Her lips were taken in a kiss before Jemma had even a chance to look Skye in the face for more than a moment.

It hadn’t even occurred to her that Skye might be feeling the same way she had been ( _because a bullet could have hit her as well)._ Jemma flinched back slightly when Skye’s fingers moved against the cut on her forehead—but Skye just kissed her harder. It was all tongues and teeth—nothing like what happened when they were alone in bed at night.

They could have lost each other.

Jemma’s hands were greedy on Skye’s hips as she pushed up the leather jacket and shirt to get to skin. The electricity was still underneath Jemma’s skin and  _demanded_  to be felt through Skye. There was still dried blood on Jemma’s hands, but any thought of cleaning up had left her mind.

Because Jemma could have  _lost_  Skye.

It didn’t make her want to cry—all it made Jemma  _want_  was Skye ( _preferably falling apart against her fingers_ ).

It wasn’t a secret that Jemma enjoyed being spoiled. It was lovely to have Skye’s hands on her and a slow, building encounter between the two of them—but now, Jemma didn’t want to be spoiled. She didn’t want to make love to Skye sleepily after she had already come.

No, she wanted to  _fuck_  the other girl and remember just how wonderful Skye felt coming around her fingers. She needed to make sure that the other girl was real and alive ( _and hers, only hers_ ).

Jemma possessively pushed Skye against a cabinet—but that definitely wouldn’t do. The doorframe was much better ( _Skye just moaned in response, she’d follow wherever Jemma pointed her_ ). The leather jacket was quickly stripped from her body and Skye’s hand followed the suit and pulled away the sweater that covered Jemma’s button-up.

She was grateful that Skye didn’t wear the extensively  _difficult_  clothing that she wore, because she needed Skye’s shirt off _now_.

“Whoa,” Skye muttered, but lifted her arms to help Jemma’s quest be accomplished. “Easy there, tiger.”

Jemma could feel her fingers shake every moment they weren’t in contact with Skye. She just shook her head at Skye’s words and pressed her lips against the open skin of her collarbone. Her hands run upwards from her hips and rested against the  _two_  bullet wounds that still felt fresh underneath her fingers.

The words were unspoken because at the moment Skye  _knew_. 

It was spoken through the trembling touch against the heightened scars. There were times that Skye didn’t want her scars touched or discussion—but this was for healing. Skye knew that it was what Jemma needed.

Jemma would remind herself to later during the night spend time with her lips pressed against the scars, but there was still urgency in her movement. Skye’s lips pressed against the side of her head  _lovingly_  and Jemma needed to get Skye’s pants off.

The button proved more difficult than Jemma expected with trembling hands, so by the time it was unbuttoned and she pushed the zipper down, Jemma didn’t have the time to let the pants move to the floor. Her hands pushed the pants down far enough that she could fit her hand inside. She didn’t even waste the time of teasing through Skye’s panties.

Jemma pushed her body against Skye’s once her fingers were able to move through the slick, heat. The arousal poured over the two of them and Jemma knew that Skye wouldn’t need much to come. Her forehead pressed against Skye’s collar as she pushed two fingers inside of Skye. The moan sent a wave of heat through Jemma’s core.

“ _Fuck_.”

The word escaped her lips effortlessly as Skye’s thigh pressed up against her legs ( _the scratch Skye’s fingers made underneath her shirt didn’t help the heat either_ ). Her fingers picked up the slack from the shivers that moved through her body.

Skye’s own hand moved towards the button of Jemma’s pants, but Jemma’s free hand quickly pulled it away. Their fingers linked as Jemma pushed their conjoined hands against the door.

“Need.. to… focus…” Jemma’s words were separated by kisses above Skye’s bra.

For as much as Jemma enjoyed being the “bottom”, Skye couldn’t deny that it wasn’t fucking  _hot_  when Jemma took the control away from her. Her teasing nature wouldn’t leave as she pushed her thigh hard between Jemma’s closed legs ( _maybe she would pay for it, but she would definitely enjoy any punishment_ ).  

Jemma’s fingers stroked hard inside of her and the thumb pressed hard against Skye.

“Fuck.” It was Skye’s turn to swear as her head banged heavily against the door. “Fuck.”

“I’m trying, sweetheart.”

The slurred words of endearment  _moaned_  from Jemma’s lips almost caused Skye to flip them around and take Jemma _harder_  against the wall. The fingers inside of her kept her still except for the shivers and  _thrusts_  of her hips against them.

When Jemma’s thumb began to move in circles, Skye was done for. It only took a moment for Skye’s legs to feel like jello and a string of moans to flow from her. Jemma’s fingers continued to push within her and the aftershock of her orgasm only lasted longer,  _better_.

Skye felt like she could fall over from exhaustion by the time Jemma had removed her fingers and wiped them against Skye’s pants, but then she twitched against Skye’s thigh.

There would be a time for exhaustion later.


	2. if i had to die

If Skye needed to die, then Jemma should have known before.

She should have gotten more time with the other girl. She would have appreciated it more than she did. She would have taken the moments where Skye would kiss her and memorize the feeling of Skye’s lips against her own. She would have remembered how it felt when she ran her fingers against Skye’s scalp.

If Skye had to die, Jemma should have been the first one to know.

She would have taken Skye away from the Bus and done something  _grand_. 

So much had been left unsaid.

That’s not what Skye would have wanted. 

They should have had more time.

Moments shouldn’t have been cut short. What could be turned into what  _could have_  been. It went so fast. Moments that should have been faded as if there had been a fire in Jemma’s mind. All that were left were the ashes of the future.

Jemma let her fingers run through Skye’s hair and she tried not to think about it as the last time. 

If Skye had to die, Jemma should have been the last face she saw.

It wasn’t fair that the last person with Skye was the man who shot her. That was the last face she would ever see and Jemma couldn’t imagine the terror. Skye shouldn’t have died alone in that dark room. This— what was happening now… that wasn’t living. Skye had died alone and scared.

That would haunt Jemma forever.

If Skye had to die, Jemma should have gone with her.


	3. don't think

There’s no need to think about it.

Jemma is used to being precise with her hands. Everything she does requires her to know what and  _why_  her hands are doing something. She needs to know exactly what to do ( _all of the time it seems_ ). She’s constantly worried about what her hands are doing—but not here.

Skye’s scolded her for it before.

When she’s focused on what her hands are doing, Jemma isn’t focused on  _her_.

All she wants— _needs_  to be is focused on Skye.

The loose passion came easier to Skye. Jemma had to learn not to work as hard.

It’s never the same—that’s what Jemma loves.

Skye knows that Jemma isn’t some innocent flower that needs to be treasured all the time ( _because sometimes she likes to be treated like the princess_ ). Their skin isn’t meant to be only brushed. They won’t always bruise from the harsher grabs. There’s a thrill that comes along with the nails and teeth against skin. They’ve haven’t used their safe word yet.

It’s just them.

Jemma’s had to learn to stop worrying about “passing” the test. There wasn’t any correct answer.

“This isn’t a test,” Skye had reassured during one of their first times together. There is no right or wrong answer. There’s groans and laughter. It’s all part of the process— _their_  process. It doesn’t mean that she stops worrying about what her hands are doing or if she’s “good” at it.

There isn’t any handbook to study it all from—instead she gets to test everything she wants on Skye ( _it’s the best sort of experiment)_.

Jemma always did love experiments.

They stay quieter when they’re on the Bus. They don’t need an incident with Fitz again. There was no explaining away why Skye’s head was between Jemma’s legs ( _Jemma couldn’t take more teasing from Skye about how even through the embarrassment she could make Jemma come)_. It’s easier to stay quiet now on the Bus. If they’re at a hotel, all bets are off.

Jemma manages to muffle her moan as Skye’s hands shift her panties off her legs and kisses her way down Jemma’s bare stomach.

Hands anchor Jemma to her bed as Skye’s lips continue lower.

“Skye.”

Skye has always been a giver. Jemma tries not to relate it to her childhood and fears of abandonment ( _but she fixes people for a living so its hard to not think of the cause_ ). Jemma likes to receive. She could blame her parents because she was spoiled rotten, but she knows she loves the attention Skye gives her more than any pre-disposition would predict. But some nights, Jemma wants to give first ( _she knows that Skye likes it when she does that_ ).

“Skye, come here.” It takes strength of mind to pull Skye from going down on her.

It takes a moment, but Skye returns up Jemma’s body. It doesn’t happen before she runs her fingers against Jemma’s center and has the other girl doubting her decision to give first, receive later.

Sometimes everything they do feel dirty, but now it’s just a rush. All inhibitions about skin and bodies leave from their minds. They don’t worry about how they look to themselves. All that matters is what the other person feels.

And Skye tastes delicious underneath Jemma’s tongue. She can taste the sweat raising from Skye’s neck as her fingers slip in-between the girl’s legs.

Jemma moves her hand to push open Skye’s thigh more and hits a ticklish spot and Skye giggles.

“Hey,” Jemma crinkles her eyebrows together at the giggle as her fingers continue to slide in and out of Skye. “Don’t start that while I’m doing  _this_.” Jemma’s stern tone only makes Skye giggle more and Jemma bites softly against Skye’s jawline as a punishment ( _which does the opposite affect since Jemma can feel Skye tense beneath her fingers)._

“Oh, don’t get your panties in a bunch… oh wait,” Skye smirked as she pushes her knee up between Jemma’s naked legs. “I already took those off.”

Jemma’s head moves against Skye’s collarbone to rest as her fingers keep moving, but so does Skye’s thigh against her center.  _Fuck_. Jemma knows that Skye can feel just how ready she is.

Blood rises to her chest and cheeks as she thinks about it.

Then she’s wondering where her fingers are again and Skye’s teasing stops. The consistency is gone and Jemma’s too focused again. “Jems,” Skye whispers as her fingers move from their massaging position against Jemma’s hips. Her hands are on Jemma’s checks and raise the girl’s face up from hiding. Their gazes connect and Skye doesn’t need the words—neither does Jemma. There’s a crinkle above Jemma’s eyes and Skye knows exactly what the look means. Skye doesn’t let up on the interlocked look until the wrinkle fades away. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s my girl.”

They’re kissing again and Skye tries to keep Jemma in the present. But just their lips together makes Jemma’s motions stabilize again and have Skye back to wanting to moan aloud.

And even though they’re fucking, it doesn’t mean that they don’t need the reminders. Skye happily reminds Jemma whenever she needs

For as much as Skye taught her about  _fucking_ , Jemma taught Skye more than she ever imagined about  _intimacy_.

All their movements together have the passion behind them. It doesn’t need to be labeled—even though they both now the difference when they’re  _making love_. That slow, intensity doesn’t happen as often. It’s reserved for the times where they need each other the most. This was just a reminder of how much they cared about each other. The pause was for reassurance.

Love is spoken through actions.

It was spoken for them through the sweating and moans. It comes from when there isn’t’ any expectations, just raw pleasure.

None of the awkward pauses or giggles makes Skye come any less hard when Jemma presses her thumb against her and bites down on her ear lobe.

It’s perfect with all the imperfections.


	4. (not so much) into the sunset

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt : I am in dire need of Skimmons fics. can you write a fic where Skye & Simmons take the car Skye stole to the middle of no where and just have a make out session

“Oh dear,” Jemma muttered as they started the drive out. “This is  _very_ , very wrong.”

It just made Skye laugh—there went their “ _bad girl shenanigans_ ”. Instead of responding to Jemma’s worrying ( _which didn’t quite make sense because it was Jemma’s suggestive looks that made Skye even consider driving away with the stolen car)_ , Skye just laughed and pulled her hair out of the tight tie. “Come on, Jem,” Skye finally spoke as she used a hand to help shake out her hair. “Just let loose. We saved Coulson. We deserve  _some_  fun.”

It took a moment, but Jemma nodded her head after a moment. They deserved some fun. Both of them had been stretched to their limits during the past few days. After a few deep breathes, Jemma managed a smile before she turned on the music. Skye took the cue and Jemma didn’t even know that Skye knew how to drive as fast as she did.

By the time they were finally parked, Jemma had giggled more than she had ever expected to.

Skye brought the car to a sliding stop; her own laughter filled the space between the two of them.

“Oh goodness,” Jemma said with a smile. Her seatbelt clicked off before she climbed from behind the windshield to see where they had stopped. “It’s gorgeous out here.”

Jemma had never seen much of America.

The only experience she had of the country was more of the major cities—definitely not in the middle of the desert. Never had it been on the top of her “places to see” wish list.

But she could definitely see the beauty of it when she was there with Skye.

“You gonna give me a bit of a  _Transformer_  show?” Skye teased as she made her way up to the top of the seat where Jemma was situated.

“Oh  _please_ ,” Jemma sighed with a quick roll of her eyes. “Fitz loves those movies—although I don’t quite see the appeal. I’m more of an  _Elvis and Annabelle_  sort of girl.”

Skye just let out a small laugh at Jemma’s snark. Skye wouldn’t lie and say Fitz and her hadn’t bonded over a mutual love of Michael Bay.

“But…” Jemma added after a moment ( _and a shift in her body_ ), “maybe  _you_  should with your new look.”

“Ah—you like?” Skye teased with a slight flip of her loose hair. “I thought that might be a reason you kept looking towards the car and then at  _me_.” Skye’s hands grasped at Jemma’s hips as she pulled them back slowly to the seats; only this time, Skye pulled Jemma closer to herself. The hint wasn’t lost on Jemma who used the movement to swing herself onto Skye’s lap.

Silence filled the space in between them as Jemma adjusted her straddling. Her hands moved about the leather jacket that hit every one of Skye’s curves. “You know I can’t resist this bad girl look.” Skye hummed her approval as her hands stayed against Jemma’s hips. It only took a bit of a lean for Jemma’s lips to press against Skye’s. Even though it had only been days since this had all started—it was nice to just have the two of them together. No rushing around—there was no speed in the kiss. The slow, tenderness was exactly what the both were yearning for.

The kiss ended with Skye’s lips leaving Jemma’s own for a moment to move to the edge of her jaw. Just a few more inches and Skye knew that she’d reach the point that made Jemma  _melt_  with pleasure. “Who would have thought,” Skye murmured before Jemma opened her eyes.

“What?” Jemma asked, her hands were already moving to remove the belt that kept the tight jacket on Skye’s figure.

“It took me all this time to finally get one of you sandwiches,” Skye said with a grin as she pulled away just for a look at Jemma’s face when she said it. Completely worth it for the roll of the eyes and dry laugh that escaped her lips.

“Oh, hush.”


	5. safety comes in moments (like these)

There are soft moments— moments where Jemma feels like crying out when Skye touches her.

Experiments aren’t what Jemma always loves.

Safety comes with the memory of Skye’s skin against her own.

Security comes with the way Jemma’s fingers press inside of her.

Their routine changes. Jemma loves that about their relationship. Roles aren’t taken by each of them. They take turns and it’s  _glorious_. There isn’t any guilt or self-consciousness when Jemma pins Skye’s hands over her head. No doubt when Skye nips down her stomach and anchors Jemma to the bed with her arms.

They are  _both_ in charge. Even when Skye pins her down, Jemma can always get up from it.

“Skye,” Jemma whines when Skye presses her third finger inside of her. The girl clenches underneath Skye and it’s not a  _good_  clench. “I don’t…”

Her sentence hasn’t even finished and Skye’s fingers pull out of her, but it isn’t like she’s burned or hurt by the words. Instead, Skye whispers her apologies into her hair and by stroking her instead— Jemma relaxes into the safety of Skye’s fingers again.

There’s no shame in the stop.

They are constantly learning.

Because sometimes—Jemma  _likes_  the experiments.

The first time Jemma  _bites_ down against Skye’s ear ( _harsher than she had intended_ ), Skye yelps and falls apart at once.

“ _Again_.”

Neither has to worry about saying “no” or “more”. Skye doesn’t have to worry about starting to doze off after Jemma has kissed her way up her stomach.

_Give and take._

They will both be there in the morning.

There’s no shame because Jemma gets to wake up beside her best friend.


	6. this will be the last time (you take me )

_  
It’s the little things that convince me to stay_

_It’s your fingertips and the music they play_

_To the beat of my heart_

_And the rhythm our bodies make_

She isn’t supposed to show up in your bunk.

“Go back to bed, Skye. It’s late.”

You wonder how she can fit so perfectly into your life, but you can never fit into hers.

Skye is the one who kissed you first. You hadn’t asked for her; you hadn’t asked for any of this. Because even though  _she_ kissed you first, you’re the one who fell in love.

Hatred would be so much easier—avoidance would do as well. It’s hard to do either when she lives feet away from you. It was easy to push off the first kiss—the next hundred times it wasn’t so easy.

She’s become your life and you are simply a part of hers.

You’ve squeezed your life to be at least a role in her life, but it’s too much. Waiting for the moments when she shows up has ruined you.

You’ve only whispered love into her body. You would never tell her how you feel outside of those intimate moments; there is no way you could take that level of rejection. Not when you’ve seen her kiss the random guy at the pub with the same look on her face. You like to believe that she saves a smile for you ( _but you know she doesn’t_ ).

Forgetting how you feel is easier in the light of day, but it’s night when she looks at you like that. You wish you could tell her every single thought you had thought about her. She should know every moment when you fell in love.

( _She’ll never notice the secrets glances you give to her_.)

Skye doesn’t see you that way.

Some days it feels like she’s just aware of your existence, while she  _is_  your existence.

You haven’t ever asked what she’s wanted; it’s always been a silent agreement.

It’s the first real friendship you’ve had since Fitz. Of course you haven’t wanted to loose her. Ruining her friendship might destroy a part of you.

“Jems.”

You wish she were in your bed because of the comforter that brings the memories from home onto the Bus. You like to pretend that all she needs is someone to sleep next to—you hope that’s the case. The day was long, but nobody almost died.

It’s a good day by that standard.

“I’m tired, Skye.”

The oldest lie in the book is the only one you can think of. Because you can’t look at her as she sits in the overlarge t-shirt she had stolen from some guy before she joined the team. You don’t look at her because you know your resolution would be broken in an instance.

_“I’m happy!” She yells after your argument._

_“Well, I’m not.”_

_You are exhausted and you can’t handle this. No matter her happiness, you can’t live like this anymore. You’re not happy._

You wish that were the end of it.

If she had stayed away, everything would have been fine. Instead, she had been in your room that night as well.

Your hair is pulled back and it’s the flaw in your plan. When you turn your back to her to get in a drawer, she inches behind you and her lips can touch your skin with no warning. There were no hands you could push away before the kiss had started. Your eyebrows crinkle together when you turn around. The look of worry ( _of giving in to temptation_ ) stays firmly on your face. Her fingers dance against the hem of your shirt. “Jem,” she repeats and the glaze over her dark eyes ruins you. “Come on grumpy pants.”

_We agreed to stop this._

You should have said it. You shouldn’t of let the crinkles fall from the cease of your forehead and your chin drops with your defiance. You find yourself looking up at her for guidance instead of the other way around.

She kisses you and you remember what addiction is.

Addiction is the way your heart pounds against your bones; it’s the way the her lips find a way to make her pulse feel as if it’s your on.

You’ve never done drugs or drank excessively—but you’ve had Skye and you’re the worst kind of addict.

When she kisses you and guides you to your own bed, you wonder if the pain is worth this feeling.

The softness of her fingers against your hips is enough to convince you to be pulled in.

“This is the last time.”

You whisper. It was supposed to be strong—a promise. It sounds more like doubt.

“Cross my heart.”

It’s your mantra—your pledge of how you will always fail to cut her out.


	7. oh, you’re kissing me again

“ _More_.”

There’s so much more to the word than she hears.

She hears how you crave her skin against yours—you hear the desperation behind it. More touch, more kisses, more love, more  _everything_.

You’re the worst kind of addict.

She’s young and reckless. You don’t know if you were ever that young.

But Skye keeps coming back to  _you;_  that has to mean something.

You can’t imagine your life without her. Even a stranger could see your affection for her.

Hands keep your hips grounded to the bed. She strips away your clothes along with your inhibitions. What the hell were you thinking letting her back into your bed? It took you three tries to get her smell off your sheets the last time. Yet, you don’t doubt it anymore once she’s kissing you and your shirt is off.

“Simmons,” Skye’s voice is soft and it pulls you back into reality. The kissing has stopped and she stares down at you. Her fingers burn against your bare waist as she stops all her movement. “We can stop if you want.”

It isn’t the first time she has offered you an out after you’re in over your head. It  _is_  the first time you’ve considered it. You can feel the crinkles in your forehead as your gaze leaves her intense stare. Her eyebrows have arched up and you can see the patience in her demeanor. Yet, you can’t deny her.

Your hand moves till it’s pressed perfectly against her jaw. You don’t look her in the eyes when you answer her. “The last time.”

It sounds more like a promise this time.

She must see how much it hurts you—otherwise she’d never ask.

You kiss her this time. Something clicks deep within your stomach and you want to be the one in control for this last time.

Awkwardly, you push her over and there’s a surprised hum that escapes from her ( _maybe you should have surprised her sooner_ ). Teeth graze over the artery in your neck and your hands tremble against her skin as you push up her shirt. Once you reach the scars against her stomach, your mind drifts to how the doctors should of done a better job ( _how you should have been able to save her_ ).

“Stop thinking.”

It doesn’t surprise you that Skye knows you so well.

You’re an open book begging to be read by her.

Her thigh presses between your legs, but you don’t let her strip off your underwear. Instead, your hands push hers off.

She can feel how soaked you are through your panties.  _Embarrassingly so._

Her thigh pushes against you and the noises you make are loud enough for a smirk to arise on her face. There’s a part of you—the  _large_  part of you—that wants to grind against her thigh until you collapse against her. The smaller part of you wins out and you push your hand down her abdomen.

Your other hand has already trailed down from Skye’s jaw to palm against her breasts through the thin t-shirt. Before you can even start your descent, Skye’s hand has grasped your wrist and led it  _exactly_  where she needs you. “ _Jems_.”

Denying her has never been an option.

No time is wasted on teasing. You dip a finger inside of her. You’ve laid your lips against her jaw in a desperate attempt to feel her quake beneath your touch. It works, but you tremble more than she does. When you slid another finger inside of her, you’re left breathless as her nails dig into the small of your back, pulling your body closer.

You’re addicted.

This is your last fix and you want to overdose on the feeling of  _home_  she inspires inside of you.

Your fingers waste no time and the speed adds faster than she can keep up. It’s  _glorious_. You lift your head to watch her eyes close in building pleasure—pleasure that stems from  _your_  fingers,  _your_  touch. You don’t deny kissing her then. You keep your fingers moving quickly inside of her slick heat.

“Fuck, Jems,” she whimpers in a thick, husky voice.

The tears in your eyes are unexpected. Skye says  _your_  name and you feel a sob rise within your chest. Your fingers slow for a moment and Skye’s eyes shift open. The recovery is quick. You tilt your head just so that your forehead rests against her jaw and you can press a kiss against her neck without her having to see the tears against your red cheeks.

It’s a terrible reminder that this isn’t what you’ve wanted.

Your thumb presses against her hard while your fingers curl with each stroke.

It’s the last time.

Skye’s whimpers urge you on and make the tears come faster all in the same instant. You’ve lost control of your feelings and you can’t stop the sob from rising as you circle your thumb quickly.

She’s too lost in her own pleasure to feel the sob—to feel any of the angst rolling from your body.

“Jem—Jems—fuck.”

She collapses against your fingers, but it’s you who sobs out.

“ _I love you_.”

The sobs were unexpected. Because as soon as she’s coming down from her high, you’re falling apart.

“Jemma?” Her voice is thick and you push away from her before you can  _see_  the pity on her face. You can already hear it in her tone.

It’s the last time and you’ve  _ruined_  it. Her hands are gentle against the curve of your hip.

You push them away.

“Jem.”

She knows you’re not tired; she’s felt how desperate you felt against her bare thigh. You  _know_  she heard your whisper. It had taken you both by surprise. She tries to touch you again and you pull away from her. You pull a sheet around yourself. It’s a crappy barrier, but you wrap it tight around yourself.

“Simmons, talk to me.”

There’s a strong urge pulling you towards the door. Even though this is  _your_  bed, it doesn’t feel like it anymore.

“This was it, Skye,” your voice quivers. You refuse to look at her even as you can see her move beside you. “The last time; I can’t—I can’t do this anymore.”

You clutch the sheet around yourself before you get up to make sure it won’t fall off while you get out of your own bed to pull on a robe.

The room can be hers until the next morning—you wouldn’t stay even if she left. The bed will smell like her for days and you can’t sleep like that.

“I’m sorry, Jemma.”

The words stop you at the door.

You didn’t plan to look back, but you did.

“Me too.”

You’re both only human.


	8. you don’t have to live in fear

“Simmons, stop!”

Skye trembled at the strength of her own voice.

There was no room for discussion.

“Skye, please, just listen,” Jemma begged. There was no stopping herself from stopping. Her back faced Jemma; her body shook with the breaths she inhaled. 

“I can’t—“ Skye’s voice trembled. It took a moment for Jemma to realize it wasn’t from anger or annoyance, but  _fear_.

Jemma’s steps were slow and delicate. Even with her back turned, Jemma didn’t want to scare off Skye. Not again. It had taken Fitz and her months to track down the other girl after Coulson had scared her away the first time ( _Jemma reminded herself it wasn’t his fault; Skye hadn’t listened to a_   _word he said_ ). But now—now it was just Skye and her. Jemma had even pulled off any communication effort.

Skye deserved at least that amount of dignity.

“Please don’t run away,” there was hope in Jemma’s voice. All she needed was for Skye to look at her and then, just  _maybe_ , she’d listen.

“You need to go.”

Skye shook off Jemma’s hand when she reached for her. “Don’t touch me!”

Jemma’s feet startled backwards and Skye’s body tightened.  _That_  was the reason she had to stay away.

Skye wouldn’t allow herself to hurt the team. She had already done it once; there were no second chances in Skye’s mind.

“Skye,” Jemma’s voice softened and this time, her hand stayed on Skye’s shoulder. “Come back to the bus and we can figure everything out. You don’t need to be alone… please don’t be alone.”

It was the first time Skye had looked at a member of the team since—it had been the first time she had seen Jemma. The last time… Jemma hadn’t looked hopeful. She had been afraid and crying.

The look on Jemma’s face was etched in Skye’s mind ( _along with Coulson’s and May’s_ ).

“Leave me alone.”

“No!” Jemma’s voice cracked. “I’m not going to leave you alone here. We need you— _I_ need you. Can’t you see that?”

“Stay away, Simmons.”

Jemma shook her head; there was no fear as she moved forwards towards Skye. “I need you.”

Skye’s eyes shut and for a moment—a  _single_  moment—maybe she would go back. But then her eyes opened and there it was. She hadn’t seen it until Jemma was this close.

The healing scar peaked out from Jemma’s top against her neck. The thick, red line told her everything she had known before. She could never go back.

“Don’t come looking for me.”

“Skye!”

“Don’t come looking for me, leave me  _alone_.” She wouldn’t—couldn’t return. She’d never hurt her again. “I’m not coming back.”

“I need you.”

“I don’t… I don’t need you. I don’t want you. Stay  _away_.”

The words worked. Jemma’s small step backwards was enough for Skye to turn and  _run_.

One last scar to make sure she never hurt Jemma again. 


	9. when love is a verb

The water almost disappears in the background while Skye’s fingertips run through her hair. It may just be her new favorite thing. Maybe the oil that has built up should embarrass her around her scalp, but she can’t think, let alone speak. Simmons shifts forward just slightly to lean into the fingertips.

"Breathe."

The water isn’t even touching her yet, but just the consistent beat of the shower against the tile is enough for Jemma’s entire body to shake.

_"Afraid of a little water?"_

They wouldn’t even be in the bathroom if Skye hadn’t muttered those words. The words that Skye knew were  _stupid_ , so incredibly  _stupid_. It had been careless and thoughtless. She hadn’t meant for Jemma to tense and almost begin to cry.

That never could be her intention.

Skye had known the answer to her sarcastic question in that exact moment; her eyebrows had crinkled together and her breathing stopped.

The pieces should of come together earlier for Skye— of course Jemma was afraid of water after she was quite literally thrown into the ocean in a metal box.

It had only been 3 days since everything happened. Skye hadn’t even had time to really see her girlfriend, or friend, or whatever the hell they were. The bruises on Jemma’s temples had turned an ugly purple, yellow hue. They hadn’t even begun to talk about what had happened apart from each other’s basics. But by the way Jemma stayed glued to Fitz’s side, Skye knew there was more to the story than the basic details.

Words were lost on the two of them for the moment anyways.

Skye knew she had apologized for her  _stupid_ actions, but the words hadn’t mattered. Now, Skye knew her fear Jemma had been desperately trying to hide.

"When was the last time you took a real shower?"

"It’s fine… It’s fine."

It had been the only thing Jemma was able to say without losing her composure on her bed.

Cracks had already started to form in the armor Jemma had layered herself in.

Skye didn’t need to put words to the fear. They both knew the monster that laid in the fear already. The details didn’t matter. Instead, Skye reached out her hand to Jemma, an invitation to share it— the fear, the pain,  _anything_.

Skye’s fingers started at Jemma’s tight ponytail. The bathrooms in “the playground” weren’t exactly the coziest of abodes.

Simplicity was best anyways.

The buttons on Jemma’s shirt proved more difficult to undo than Skye had remembered ( _maybe it_ w _as the_ w _ay Jemma’s body trembled like a leaf_ ). Jemma’s eyes were tightly closed as Skye’s fingers kept their innocent path down her shirt. Strength was found in many different ways; for Skye, it was found in keeping her reaction buried deep within herself when she could found the other bruises that lay under Jemma’s clothing.

Her pants were the easiest part.

Jemma’s eyes finally bore into hers once Skye’s hands were off the girl. Her clothes were  _much_  easier to strip off to her undergarments. Confusion crinkled Jemma’s face together at the action. “You don’t have to—” her words were broken and meaningless.

"You’re not facing it alone."

There was her Simmons; always trying to be the strongest one. Skye reached into the shower to make sure the water wouldn’t burn their skin. Once Skye was sure of the temperature, hands were back on bare skin and eyes closed once more.

Skye entered the shower first. Jemma’s entire body— her entire being stood against Skye’s grasp, unmoving. But Skye didn’t pull, she waited. Jemma’s grip was deathly tight against Skye’s hands, but she couldn’t move. Not yet, not while her eyes were shut and she couldn’t breathe. Minutes must have passed until she shifted forwards. Skye’s hands stayed through it all, a source of consistency. Thumbs ran against her knuckles and she shifted again.

Goosebumps covered Skye’s skin once the water began to beat down on her back. Jemma continued to move forward and more water began to pour over Skye’s entire body, until her hair was drenched and Jemma was in the shower with her.

Jemma’s eyes blinked open as soon as Skye began to turn Jemma towards the water.

“ _Skye_.”

Desperation laced her name and Skye couldn’t hold herself back. “It’s okay; it’s okay. I’m here.” Hands weren’t enough, not for this. Her entire body needed to be in the play. Skye’s arms slid around Jemma’s trembling body. “Simmons.” Their bodies meshed together and Skye clung tighter to Jemma than the opposite. They could stop; Skye could feel the chill in Jemma’s body. Now, the rest of the armor had shed and Jemma was, well, Jemma again. The woman who could steal Skye’s breathe in a moment and the one who opened her heart to her.

Neither moved except for the shivers that would run through Jemma’s body so often.

"We don’t have to stay," Skye’s voice was loud in Jemma’s ear. And for a long moment she considered it. She knew exactly what would happen if they left the shower. Skye would get her a tea ( _she didn’t have to ask for it anymore_ ), there would be an awkward moment where Skye considered staying and Jemma wouldn’t be able to tell her to stay. No; she didn’t want that. There was still so much she needed to tell Skye and for some strange reason, the world seemed safer in the middle of her fear with Skye. Words still were lost on her, she didn’t even know if her voice  _could_  work yet. Skye got a slight shake in the crook of her neck in response. Her hands slid across Simmon’s damp skin from their position on her back to her face. “It’s okay,” Skye practically cooed as she swiped the moisture from Jemma’s cheeks. “Look at me.” Eye contact was good— Skye could read Jemma so much better with her eyes open. The eyes gave so much away.

Moving Simmons towards the downpour of water was much easier with their gazes interlocked. The words were finished and Skye could nod her support instead. The water was warm against her back as Simmons finally entered the stream against her spine. Pressure pressed against the bruises and Jemma sank into the feeling.

Skye’s fingertips were  _definitely_  her favorite things. The soft pads rubbed at her scalp underneath the showerhead. Jemma stayed unmoving as Skye manipulated her body to make sure none of the water reached onto her face. Her eyes had closed again, but this time it wasn’t out of fear.

There was something incredibly soothing about Skye’s fingers running through her wet hair.

Safe.

That’s what she felt while Skye leaned her head back to reach the top of her scalp. Skye’s hands only left her scalp to grab a bit of shampoo.

Mint.

She didn’t know that Skye knew it was her favorite scent. Just the aroma alone brought relaxation to her muscles.

There was something incredibly intimate about Skye washing her hair. There was no rush; Skye’s fingers took their time working through the thin hair, making sure to get all of Jemma’s hair. Skye hummed softly as she stayed behind Jemma, making sure to keep the girl’s breathing even.

Skye definitely  _didn’t_  expect the confession along side of the comfort.

"Fitz has feelings for me."

If Skye hadn’t been so close, she would of missed the softly spoken words. It took all her will to not push back from the girl. Of course he did; Skye could see it from the moment she met the two of them. _Everyone_  could see there was more underneath the surface of their friendship. “Oh.”

"Then he— then he gave me the air. And it wasn’t because I’m the better swimmer, he just…"

Skye wished she were a better person; she wished she could call off the ache in her heart and reach to comfort Jemma, but she was frozen in place.

It was Jemma who pulled her back.

"I don’t… Does that make me terrible?" Her jaw trembled with the words. Jemma would die for Fitz; she would die the most horrific of deaths for him, but… she didn’t love him, not like that.

It was a fickle thing, Jemma had realized.

Love was a verb; it’s the modifications that matter. Jemma loved Fitz  _fiercely_ ,  _strongly_ and w _hole-heartedly_. But it was nothing like romantic love Jemma hoped to experience. It was nothing like what her feelings for Skye were developing into. 

Her jaw trembled and Skye couldn’t tell if it was water or tears that were on Simmon’s face.

Words weren’t Skye’s strength.  _That_  was the fear, the one that had been laid on Jemma’s heart. Skye didn’t have the words to keep Jemma’s fears at bay; she didn’t have the words to make sure she knew that she wasn’t a terrible person.

"Jemma."

It was enough. Just the cracked name brought comfort in the haze.

Kissing her felt only natural; it demanded to happen. Running her fingers through Jemma’s hair had drawn them closer to one another. It was just them again; the monster had left, if only for the moment. Skye half expected Jemma to pull back from it, but the other half won out and Jemma leaned in further to Skye’s touch.

Intimacy would be how the touches were labeled. The kiss had stopped, but her hands had kept moving. A soft towel fit in the curve of her hand; it easily trailed along Jemma’s soft skin. Small circles, large circles, straight lines, it didn’t matter how she washed her. Every inch was given special attention. Her free hand followed the soap’s path, rubbing and simply _stroking_  the skin.

It wasn’t until she reached the lower half of Jemma’s body that Skye had to really adjust herself. Jemma’s eyes flickered open in surprise at the movement. The trust had been flipped. Now it was Skye who opened herself up to Jemma, kneeling in front of her. Washing Jemma’s body had been surprisingly innocent until this point. A hitch in Jemma’s breath alerted Skye to the difference.

Skye worked the towel slowly down the expanse of Jemma’s thighs and then her legs. The towel slipped from her grip, but Skye didn’t bother to retrieve it. Her hands slid across the slippery skin of Jemma’s calves and she pressed a whisper of a kiss against where the top of her panties met her stomach.

Jemma kissed her as soon as Skye stood up. Hands were against Skye’s hips, but Jemma didn’t get the upper hand.

Their bodies meshed together as Skye pressed Jemma’s back to the cool tiles. The heat radiating off Skye’s body only confuses the goose bumps on her skin. Jemma’s need for Skye to  _touch_ her had never been greater.

It didn’t take long for her to catch on. Skye’s right hand kept hold of her hips as her hand fumbled between their legs until her fingers slip underneath the band of Jemma’s panties. Skye’s fingers stroke her and Jemma didn’t realize how soaked she was ( _the water had nothing to do with this level of arousal)._

Jemma’s small fingers pulled at Skye’s hips, leaving red marks where she clung. Skye’s inside of her and Jemma moans. If the moment had been different, Skye would of smirked and demanded for Jemma to be louder, but this wasn’t about her.

It only take a finger inside of her, Skye gripping the back of Jemma’s neck and the hot breathe on her neck to make Jemma fall apart ( _together_ ) into Skye’s hands.

The fears will be back soon. Skye doesn’t know what will happen next ( _she_ w _onders a lot if she’ll be able to keep Jemma_ ) _._

The fears will come back, but they have each other.

The monster would be back, but Skye would be there to fight it away.


End file.
